Posts Tagged ‘Wilcox’

Leave the bastard. Kick him out into the fruity liaisons of territories still in contention. That seems to be all Jack can produce of himself. Man I grieve knowing all the potential Jack holds in his little finger, and could possibly manage into greatness, yet he continues to fuck up. You can imagine how stunned I was, the first time we ever met, when he remarked out of the blue in priceless gravity that he wished he could be like me...

I now suppose he was right, once upon a time. I am me, he ain't.

That was some strong detail you suffered, dahling. Jack is a real ass, I'm sorry. Frankly I love you, not him, although Gene Wilcox and I were just watching Jack coordinate a video shoot we made back in the day, blah blah...and still recognize the power of Jack's presence...

I wish I could add more to the record but I'm not only tired, I'm on the tail end of an 18 hour drunk. Gene, who thinks, argues thinking he is, but ultimately agrees that I, not he, is the baby Jesus, whatever that means, is still here passed out on the couch...

My street name is Gabriel Thy, and I am the last of that sorry generation which begat muster hanging from a tree.If I got to choose I'd aim to be a diamond needleor a tadpole analyzing the science of absorption.

"I believe in Glenn. I believe in what he's trying to do." (Helen Miller of her husband)But beyond sanitized analytical crumbs, I requiretwo minutes of God talk, said a child from Africawriting to ask the hand of Dana Platoin marriage. It looks like they shotthe goose. There goes the neighborhood, and yetat bottom, she was overly sensitive,ripe to a sense of failure and doubting the bet forcing her to dither a test of her courage.

To the east there appeared an unsightlycontagion of broad punk buildings,loathsome in their uniform demands and raiment. Scarsof unmanicured lawns and maimed rose bushesperpetuated the myth that all landscapesare, if not created equal in the eyesof the juke box next to a young woman,return to the scion-infested fuss upon which they were erected.

Equation Needed: a child dies, goes to heavenalmost automatically. Most adults go straightto hell for chasing choices in a very uncatholic fashion. The dilemma, the devious businessof growing old, more sinful, what percentage, no,what are the odds that child A will reach full maturity,even middle age, and still retain the gift of God? Child B?Child C?

"Sounds like a John Candy flick," smiled Charlemagne,wet between the ears. Old McDonnell Douglas and his flying machine is dying with the words"only two elephants to a bunk." He used to be a traveling preacher, traveling on fish sticks,a golden calf muscle, a disposable literarytechnique reeking of the after-effects of a gorgeousfeast, crapping in the diaper of the damned.Some friend you are, with your ceiling fan broken. "Vile Geezers, Ode to Benny Hill!"snaps Wilcox, the Greek exhibitstranded with the white girl in yellowpumps on the hood of some candy blue'76 Camaro LT, questionably butchas racy as the car, buckles, and tires.

The Perpetual Fan says, "I sweat. I am nano nanoperspiration machine. I eat sweat eatingvanilla ice cream, and the psychicrendering of memory, one man per invasion,because whatever choices you make are bound to become wrong choices after a while, over and over. Curious bump on the back of the headno matter whom she slept with because the global anatomysounds like a broken record never to fade from the languageany more than hitching your wagon to a falling star,an exploding star, a star with mammories,fairy dust wits, a star collapsed in upon itselflike a furious black hole Momma

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Quoth the Raven

"Intellectual economics guarantees that even the most powerful and challenging work cannot protect itself from the order of fashion. Becoming-fashion, becoming-commodity, becoming-ruin. Such instant, indeed retroactive ruins, are the virtual landscape of the stupid underground. The exits and lines of flight pursued by Deleuze and Guattari are being shut down and rerouted by the very people who would take them most seriously."